“For five days,” I murmured as she assisted me into a clean dress. “So much must have happened.”
“So much has happened indeed. Inspector Han is preparing an arrest warrant for Young Master Ch’oi Jinyeop.”
Just as Aejung finished securing the sash around my dress, Hyeyeon entered with a table bearing a bowl of gruel and side dishes of pickled cabbage and radish.
“You’re awake.” She set it down before me. “Eat and strengthen yourself again.”
I sat down and picked up a wooden spoon, stirred my meal, and blew the steam away. Tucking an oily strand of hair behind my ear, I took a bite. Surprise lit my stomach at how tasty it was. The finely ground rice swam with pine nuts. The pickled vegetables offered a tasty zing and crunchiness to the soft, bittersweet meal.
“I heard—overheard—that Inspector Han killed a man,” Hyeyeon said.
The spoon stilled in my hand. Unable to look up, I spoke to the bowl. “Is he to be punished?”
“The inspector is a military official,” she replied, and did not elaborate.
“I suppose the higher authorities will overlook it,” I whispered, no longer hungry. “A guilty person was killed—”
“No one would have died had you followed a simple order to stay still. Inspector Han hates blood, but you made him kill a boy.”
I shifted on my knees, wishing the floor would open and swallow me whole.
“A little favor from the inspector, and look what happened to you. Your head grew too big with pride and you forgot your place as a servant.” Hyeyeon clucked her tongue at me. Then she rose to her feet and slid a stare over her shoulder. Our eyes met. “This is what happens when a foolish girl thinks she can be someone of consequence. She creates chaos, utter chaos.”
* * *
A few hours spent outside the servants’ quarter was enough to leave me dripping in cold, panicky sweat.
It was as though a storm had swept through the police bureau, flipping over tables and trays, knocking down shelves and chairs. Hyeyeon was right, I had caused chaos. Inspector Han had threatened to transfer Kyŏn out of the bureau for his insubordinate behavior, and everyone knew it was because I had “tattled” on Kyŏn. And with the inspector’s threats, speculation spread fast—about Inspector Han’s whereabouts on the night of the killing, about his horse covered in blood.
“Inspector Han killed a boy and is now trying to silence an officer,” some whispered. “A man threatens when he feels endangered.”
Utter chaos, and everyone blamed me for it.
This weight grew heavier when Inspector Han summoned me. I dragged myself toward the western courtyard, and there he stood, alone, his uniform of dark blue flowing in the windy afternoon. The blood seemed to drain from me, leaving every part of my body cold. I clasped my hands before me, carefully, so as not to disturb the wounds. And then I bowed to him.
“Did you call for me, sir?” My voice sounded detached.
“Do you have anything to say to me?”
“I do not, sir.”
Silence beat between us. Then, ever so quietly, he said, “You are still young, and so do not understand your position in life. Though I value you and admire your cleverness, never forget this, Seol. My investigation comes first, and I will not let anything get in the way. When I order you to do something, you will listen.”
“I understand, sir.” I stared at the ground, hurt flaring up in my chest. And the pain of it, along with my torn skin, made it impossible to keep silent. “You said you had a little sister, sir. Would you have dropped your sword for her, if it had been her and”—voice wavering, I paused to regain composure—“and not me?”
“My sister is dead because of me,” Inspector Han said, his face stoic and his voice steady. Yet his reddened eyes betrayed him. “And if she were alive, she would have told you the same. Never get in my way.”
Saying no more, he walked forward and bade me follow behind him. For once I was grateful for this. I didn’t want anyone to look at me right now, as searing thoughts and emotions blew into me from the east and west, colliding and conflicting.
I could not un-remember the truth about him, which not even sympathy could melt away: Inspector Han was not so very kind, not so very honest, and not so very just.
Once he took off his boots and stepped onto the veranda encircling the Office of the Inspector, I struggled with my wounded hand and neatly arranged his shoes, even as wetness stung the corners of my eyes.
“A guest will be joining me,” Inspector Han said. “Sit in silence until I give you further instructions.”
Following him into the office, I knelt by the wall, far away from where he sat. The silence continued, cramped with all the things unsaid, and I sat there, grinding my teeth, which sounded like trees creaking in the night.
“Inspector,” a voice called from outside the office, “he is arrived.”
“Let him in.”
The doors slid open onto a gentleman clad in shimmering silk. His face glowed with health in the skylight, and if rumors were true, he had washed his face with the freshest water, fetched all the way from the peaks of a mountain. It was Young Master Ch’oi. “How gracious of you to invite me to your office.”
“Do you know why I asked for an audience with you?”
The young master flipped back the tail of his robe and sat down on the mat before Inspector Han, a low table between them. With a smile, he said, “I hear you are trying to arrest me.”
“And yet you still came.”
“Why should I be afraid of you?” he asked. “Already the queen regent has my life dangling from her fingers.”
“So the rumors have frightened you. Her Majesty will uproot Catholicism, first with your family.”
As the men exchanged cold words, I was reminded of the norigae ornament Inspector Han had given to me. I’d kept it safe within my personal chest for the past few days. But now the promise retained within the norigae seemed tainted, stained by the inspector’s resentment toward me.
“Damo Seol,” Inspector Han said, his voice stern.
Startled, I glanced up.
His gaze was on me, distant and indifferent. “Remove the bandage and show this gentleman your hand.”
The cavern in my chest grew. Just do what he tells you to do, I thought. I unwrapped the bandage around my left hand, exposing bloody, scab-crusted wounds, that looked like someone had chopped my fingers off and sewn different ones on. Only Inspector Han looked away. Guilt bit into him, perhaps.
“And what kind of evidence is this?” the young master asked.
The inspector shook his head, as though trying to shake the redness of my blood from his vision. He returned his gaze to the rogue. “We were nearly killed by the men who tailed us.”
“And what has that to do with me?”
“What do you think?”
The young master shrugged.
“Those rogues interfered with my investigation, and one of them mentioned your name,” Inspector Han said. “How do you feel about that?”
“So you are convinced that I hired men to tail you.”
“I am.”
“Then I will not attempt to dissuade you. All I shall say is that, if I did indeed hire those men, I would not feel that I had done wrong.”